


to the end

by v3ilfire



Series: let the stars watch, let them stare [2]
Category: Pyre (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, i hate hopeless endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11740869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v3ilfire/pseuds/v3ilfire
Summary: “We found a wood deep in the forest, sturdy enough to fashion thee a leg. That crow’s foot is worn.”Reader tilted the separated appendage away from herself to examine it. The damn thing was scratched and a little warped, but without the labor of the Rites and all their preparations it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to. She almost missed Pamitha teasing her for it.“Don’t trouble yourself with it, Bertrude.”“Sturdy enough to reinforce this wagon,” she said. “Light enough for the wings.”“Say the word, and we’ll get it done.”“Perhaps light enough to see this wagon soar over Mount Alodiel.”





	to the end

The Shimmer-Pool snapped shut before Reader and without the light to distract her she felt the ache in her leg anew. To make matters worse, she was left to hobble back to the near-empty blackwagon without Jodariel to lean on.

Oralech was staring at her with an expression that was lost somewhere between pity and disdain, and for a moment she saw something of the doctor he once was. She thought to say something before Xae ran over, quick to take her by the elbow. Reader was loathe to put all her weight on the girl, but the leg with which she was sentenced was never meant to be worn more than a few hours at a time.  
“I think maybe we should go back to the wagon?”  
Reader nodded, choked out something agreeable. They made it nearly all the way to the Scribesgate before she thought to say goodbye to Oralech, but when she turned her head to do so he was not where he’d been standing. 

Just… vanished.

She had a feeling about where he’d gone. She wished him peace, for whatever that did, and later that night would shed some tears for him as well all the others. To  her credit, she only cried that first night, after which days passed unremarkably.

Both Bertrude and Xae were happy to oblige Reader in disappearing from the map after Dalbert’s death. That day the three of them went to pay their respects to the Fate, relieved to hear that the old cur died happy by Almer’s side to the tune of successful revolution in the Commonwealth; happy that Sandalwood’s plan, insane and impossible as it was, cast the city’s leadership to the Downside they so loathed and into further exile by its existing denizens. It was a good death as far as the deaths of loved ones went, but a strange one in being the first. It was the moment that all those who participated in the last cycle saw the rest of their lives and eventual, inevitable ends laid out in front of them there, as permanent residents of the Downside. Exiles to the end.

Almer refused to cry in front of the Nightwings, though the tears in his eyes betrayed his dignity. He had already done the work of burying his adoptive father but neglected all matters of self in the process, which left his former adversaries the task of pulling him away from a fresh grave and at the very least towards the kindness of a hot meal. Lucky for him, nobody who’d survived the trip downriver and lived to speak of the Rites dealt in idle comforts, so the Spring of Jomuer was largely silent as they worked and ate, and when the tears began to spill over his cheeks, nobody called attention to it.

It was only as they were about to pack up the blackwagon and move on that Reader cleared her throat. “And you’re sure you don’t want to come with us, Almer?” He nodded, unwilling to speak. Reader had a feeling he still didn’t fully forgive them for denying his father freedom. She couldn’t blame him.  
“Then I should stay here with you?” Xae said, tentative. “Yes, I think, you will be terribly lonely without your father, and we are friends. Reader, she has Bertrude, and little brother, but you… ”  
  
Almer looked past Xae’s pleading eyes, to Reader. The woman shrugged and smiled as she adjusted her shawl around her shoulders.  
“It’s your choice.” At least leaving Xae with the boy was less uncertain than sending her back up the river that cast her down. 

 

\---

 

Several months passed.

 

\---

 

And a few more after that.

 

\---

 

The eighth missive came back to Jodariel unopened. She would not be able to read a response either way but she knew the hand with which it would be written, so she waited months for just a few lines of tense little letters and sweeping lines; anything to tide her over until Sandalwood got his hands on the letter long enough to relay its contents.

But no such letter came.

The truth was that the joy with which they overthrew the Commonwealth was permeated by guilt, heavy and unwavering, to the point where she constantly caught Hedwyn looking to the darkened sky for a sign or the glimmer of a star. Anything at all to give them hope for the one who gave it all for their safe return.

Sometimes, Jodariel wondered if Sandalwood had some insight to keep them going, but she dared not ask in case he asked her about the final liberation. Nobody needed to know how often she mistook the whisper of a breeze against her hand as the final brush of their fingertips when they parted. Nobody needed to know how badly she’d lost the most important argument she’d ever tried to make.

 

\---

 

Reader’s moping came and went. Normally, she found Bertrude good company and both of them were more than capable of taking care of the blackwagon, especially when there were only two mouths to feed. They tried not to stay in one place too long, more out of restlessness than fear, and eventually Bertrude pushed them further and further into the remote reaches of the Downside normally inaccessible to those with their head screwed on the right way.

They tried not to get trapped reminiscing of the Nightwings that were liberated, or to discuss the unlit beyonder crystal still sitting in its place on the table. It felt morbid to keep lugging the thing around but Reader didn’t have the heart to dispose of it, and having a funeral for a woman who was most likely still very much alive felt wrong on more levels than either of them cared to deliberate.

It was a hot, muggy night in some unnamed swamp, their wagon turned ship under the starless sky. Reader was suffering theet another loss in Bertrude’s many card games when she caught a glimmer from the corner of her eye, and her head snapped towards the open window.

Nothing, and then another flash.

Only a wisp-bug.

Bertrude snapped at Reader’s wrist with the end of her tail to bring her attention back to the matters at hand.  
“Ye shall lose thus.”  
“I always lose.”  
“Aye, though not always in _complete_ disgrace.” Reader snorted and laid down a card, only to be immediately bested in the next turn. “That will cost thee.”  
“ _Smug_ is not a good look for you,” she teased.  
“Winning quite becomes us.” 

Reader shook her head, grinning as she leaned her chin into the palm of her hand, but her expression fell when her eyes wandered to the darkness outside once more. For every time she thought herself over what happened, over the _betrayal_ of the Scribes, she found herself trapped in a foul spell like this. It would hurt less if Hedwyn hadn’t tied her to his reckless, foolish, _wonderful_ vow. It would hurt _far_ less if Jodi hadn’t broken from her pragmatism to promise that they would find a way.

Bertrude began shuffling her deck. “Has hope not done enough to hurt thee?” she sighed. Reader had no answer.

 

\---

 

Normally, the night gave way to day and Reader’s mood greatly improved after a sound night of sleep, but the heat made her restless. In the dead of night she shed her layers of blankets and clothing until she was in her underthings and _still_ the sheets stuck to her like muck, still she stared into the dark abyss above and wondered if the others were also staring up to think of her below.

She rose in the morning with a heavy head and heavier heart, and tried not to let it show as she washed and dressed herself and fed the imps.

Bertrude had left before sunrise to search for the rare reagents that they traveled all this way for and did not return until the sun was high in the sky. She found Reader inside, washing her lame leg and its wooden cradle with a warm rag.  
“Found what you needed?” she said without looking up.    
“Aye. We shall move on tomorrow,” she answered, just as unceremonious. “Ye made sure to boil the swamp water?”  
“Boiled and ran it through a cloth, just like you taught me.” 

The two of them worked back to back for some time, both so intense that Reader didn’t notice when the crone fell to stillness behind her.  
“We found a wood deep in the forest, sturdy enough to fashion thee a leg. That crow’s foot is worn.”  
Reader tilted the separated appendage away from herself to examine it. The damn thing was scratched and a little warped, but without the labor of the Rites and all their preparations it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it used to. She almost missed Pamitha teasing her for it.  
“Don’t trouble yourself with it, Bertrude.”  
“Sturdy enough to reinforce this wagon,” she said. “Light enough for the wings.”  
“Say the word, and we’ll get it done.”  
“Perhaps light enough to see this wagon soar over Mount Alodiel.”  

At this, Reader stopped mid-motion.  
“I’m beginning to think you’re suggesting something.”  
“The Union is but a place.”

 

\---

 

The twelfth message returned unopened. The eleventh had been delivered to Xae, but she had not seen Reader or Bertrude since they separated months ago. Jodariel tried to take comfort in the fact that the girl was well and that Almer proved better company than she would have guessed, but Hedwyn’s downtrodden expression turned her honest. She tried to force herself past it.  
“She will turn up,” she assured them both.  
“And then what? I promised we’d all --”  
“That’s enough.” 

She could not bring herself to say that they would find a way.

 

\---

 

Reader had not seen Scribesgate since the final liberation. The last time she saw the temple, it didn’t mean the same thing to her as it did the first, and she had a hunch that all of it would turn into something entirely other in the near future. It felt strange to think of the Fall without the pressure of a rite, without Tariq’s lute to keep them going, or Tizo’s chirping.

Drinking with Pamitha.

Gilman’s drills.

Hedwyn’s vow.

Jodi’s arm to lean on as they walked ceremoniously up the incline.

By the time Reader realized exactly what Bertrude was planning, she had driven the wagon halfway back to her crones and began procuring materials. She was not allowed to see the progress but overheard plenty of the bickering and dismantling as it happened. For days she sat resigned in her campsite, either reading or helplessly clutching the beyonder crystal like it would summon Sandra to keep her company.

She was without news the entire time, which was already an unusually long time for the one who turned a wagon to a boat overnight, and all of that waiting was made even longer by the heavy, damp _heat_. The first sign of progress came at week’s end, when Bertrude presented Reader with a chest full of all the keepsakes they’d gathered on their journeys. She thrust her cards into Reader’s palm and said, “So thee may practice, and three others. Choose wisely.”  
  
Reader’s mouth went dry as the reality of the situation began to set in. She found Jodi’s rug neatly rolled and the riverfrost wrapped in a cloth that barely contained its chill. “And the beyonder crystal,” she added. “I can’t leave it.”  
Bertrude gathered the items into her arms with a curt nod and said, “We take these as your choice to leave this place.” Reader had no answer, which seemed to frustrate the crone. “Speak,” Bertrude snapped.  
“It doesn’t feel right, getting this chance.”  
“Tell us, if thee could judge all those roaming the Downside and choose for yourself those that returned, would thee?”  
The question gave Reader some pause. “No, it’s not my place.”  
“Neither is it ours. We will afford this chance to thee through the fortune of our friendship. Think not of the others. If they wish their return, they will find their own luck.”

Unwilling to entertain further empty arguments, Bertrude took the items that Reader had gathered back into her work area, and left her own judgement to hang in the air.

 

\---

 

A week later, Bertrude was going over the new levers in the stripped-down, souped-up blackwagon: a shadow of its former self, perhaps a quarter of the size and even less in mass. She had kept the leftover materials for herself in what she claimed was her rightful repayment from Sandalwood, but they both knew there was far more nostalgia involved than that.

The drive-imps were flitting about Reader’s ankles excitedly as she received her instructions, well aware that this would be their greatest ride, and the last.  
“Ye will pull this when thee wish to take off,” Bertrude said, gripping a polished handle hanging from a rope. Reader swallowed past the lump in her throat.  
“And then?”  
“And then _keep pulling_.”  

Reader opened her mouth to plead with Bertrude to come with her one last time, but one sharp look shut the attempt right down. She had tried the entire time they traveled to say goodbye to Xae, and tried again on their way north, up into the hills that would allow the wagon to take off and soar upwards; high as the wings could carry her and then higher still.

“We shall be fine. There is much to be done for us here, below,” Bertrude added. Reader turned her head to look out the window, to Scribesgate and the temple in the distance, one last time. “Give Sandalwood our regards.”  
“What?” Reader snapped, turning her attention to Bertrude’s receding form. “I’m going _now_?”  
“The winds are favorable for such a feat.”  
“Bertrude, _wait_ \--”  
“Do not forget to pull. May thee return in glory.” 

Reader’s accursed leg kept her from chasing after Bertrude as she closed the door, and so she was left to be overwhelmed on her own. She stood anchored to the floor, the sound of her heartbeat suddenly so loud in her ears that she barely heard Bertrude’s _best grab hold_ from outside just as the blackwagon began to roll slowly down the hill.

She had no time to prepare. The drive-imps scurried into position as the wagon began to gain speed, until it was nearly flying over each little bump in the terrain even without its wings deployed. Reader was only shaken from her terrified trance when one such leap sent her crashing to the floor, too late to grab onto anything sturdy. She could _feel_ the wheels below starting to loosen from the axle, the unmistakable shake of the wagon as it threatened to fall apart around her even before the true challenge of the flight.

One of the little creatures began to screech, hanging desperately off the handle and jerking its full weight downwards to attempt takeoff. Now reunited with her sense of urgency, Reader threw her upper body over the edge of the nearest table, and then somehow eased her good leg into standing. She was just about to pull the crow’s foot into position when the wagon jerked suddenly leftward and sent everything rolling to one side.

They had lost a wheel, and were about to tip over.

In one final, desperate attempt, Reader lunged for the handle, and pulled.

The wings - _much_ wider, redder than she remembered them - unfolded at the sides off the wagon and colored the sunlight pouring into the windows. The initial takeoff made her stomach lurch, but she kept holding, pulling harder to the floor with the full weight of her, eyes welded shut with fear. Pulling even as the ascent grew more severe, as the winds got choppy and shook her to the core, as there seemed to be less and less air for her to breathe, as she felt her flight slow and change direction, as everything went red, then black.

 

\---

 

Hedwyn found Jodariel amid cleanup efforts in the parts of the city that were hit worst by the revolt. Unsurprisingly, there was already a small girl who had all but latched onto the demon’s side, as lost children were want to do. He would have teased her for it, if not for more the more pressing matter of strange debris seen launched over the top of the cliff overlooking the Downside.

“Jodi,” he called. “There’s something you should see.”

 

\---

 

It had felt a little like missing a step in the dark, except a thousand times worse.

Reader lay in the wrecked the blackwagon, missing a small mob of drive imps that abandoned her in her brief descent from an impossible leap. She sat up slowly, head aching, glad that her wooden leg was still intact but far less enthusiastic about the pitiful state of her left arm. Then again, what was a fractured limb when just minutes ago she’d been convinced that she was living her very last moments at terminal velocity?

It took time for her eyes to regain focus and really take in all the wreckage around her. Somehow, the body of the wagon had stayed relatively intact but sloped downwards at a dangerous angle; all of the loose objects inside ended up in a pile near the door, effectively blocking her exit. First, she pulled herself onto her good elbow, mindful of the fact that her head ended up lower than her feet and that the blood that pooled needed time to even its flow again. The trick was to balance herself while one arm was relatively useless, turn around, and slide down towards the door.

Reader took a careful survey of the heap below, worried for the last of her earthly belongings and ultimately relieved by the sight of Jodi’s rug made into a bundle around the riverfrost and beyonder crystal. The wagon creaked as she pulled herself further upwards and swung her legs slowly to face downward towards the door; the crow’s leg gave her purchase where her worn old shoe slid, and she was able to scoot slowly down to brace herself against the door.

It still didn’t feel real. It felt like she’d open the door and find herself at the base of Alodiel, with the Fall above her, all alone. She thought that maybe if she took her time wrapping her things in her shawl, she’d have time to brace herself for disappointment, but Hedwyn’s optimism had long since made a fool out of her. She couldn’t help but hope.

When Reader finally got the door open, it only gave about a foot and a half, or just enough for some of the smaller splinters and trinkets to dump out onto the ground -- not rocks, or snow -- below.  Her good leg hit the dirt first, and then second was gently lowered, and then she pressed her injured arm to wedge herself free. Some wriggling later, Reader was left to look at what was left of the blackwagon, crashed headfirst into the cliffside and one wheel still sadly spinning.

Slowly, she turned around and faced the great expanse before her, with the nation her friends were building standing blue in the distance.

Somehow, she made it.

She began hobbling forward without looking back.

 

\---

 

The wheel stopped spinning by the time Jodariel and Hedwyn found the blackwagon. At first, they weren’t even sure that it _was_ the blackwagon, but Bertrude’s handiwork became obvious to them the closer they looked.

Neither knew what to make of this discovery. It took great effort for Jodariel to push the thing upright enough to open the door, though all that did was send a few more pieces of broken wood sliding sadly out. She looked inside, skeptical and a little breathless, but saw nothing. Hedwyn nearly jumped inside, determined to find something, _anything_ to tell them what any of this meant.

“Scribes. Jodi. There’s blood.”

 

\---

 

Reader didn’t realize she was bleeding until she arrived at the gates of what used to be the Commonwealth. Someone gasped and invoked the Scribes at the sight of her, blood smeared down the side of her face and limping something fierce, tattered shawl slung over her shoulder while the other arm hung limp. She had made a full day’s journey - would have been half a day, if not for the accursed crow’s leg.

She caught the eye of the man who’d made the offending noise. She would have ignored him and found her way by herself, but her bad knee was beginning to give.  
“Greentail,” she said, audibly parched. “I’m looking for Rukey Greentail.”

Rukey’s parents had a store, but as expected in the dead of night, it was closed. It was just as Reader pictured it, too: large windows, an ornate door, and the most decadent textiles draped delicately across the displays. It was so close that it was _overwhelming_ , and she wasn’t quite sure if it made the situation seem more or less real; if she wanted to cry, or laugh.

Or maybe she was simply dead, given one last illusion of joy for her troubles.

Reader quickly decided that sleep would tell, and so settled for slumping against a wall next to the door. She had intended to slide down, but after a long day’s effort her legs finally gave and she came down hard on her rear, though already too sore to care. It took some rearranging, but soon she fell asleep clutching her keepsakes from the Downside, shawl just barely keeping out the chill.

She woke to a pair of too-quick paws nudging her injured shoulder. “Hey, chum, I don’t know what you think you’re up to, but this ain’t a --”

Rukey stopped dead when their eyes met, the recognition instant.  

If Reader truly was dead, then at least she could suffer the indignity of crying on the sidewalk and smearing tears and mud and blood in turn into Rukey’s fine vest in peace.

 

\---

 

Rukey was a little ashamed of how often the mercantile life rendered him short of breath. He sparred with Gilman as often as he could, but it was nothing compared to life on the road and the pressures of the Rites.

(Occasionally, and he would _never_ admit this, he missed that life, or at least the camaraderie of it.)

To be fair to himself, he’d been searching the city all day. He went to every nook and cranny the Nightwings ever frequented, asked every orphan Jodi had ever so much as given candy to, all to no avail. It was like everyone had vanished into thin air overnight to make room for the Reader (and he would have believed that too if he weren’t still a happy, present citizen of the new Sahrian Union).

By some sort of providence, he caught Hedwyn and Jodariel wide-eyed and tense when they crossed the gates into the city, _just_ as the sun’s rays were beginning to turn sleepy and gold. The pair looked positively ragged, and while normally Rukey’d be _happy_ to rib them about where they’d been, there was no time to waste.

“You -- you guys gotta --” He _really_ needed to ask Gilman to work him a little harder.  
“What’s going on, Rukey?” Hedwyn asked, immediately crouching down to his level. “Is it --”    
“Just -- follow me, chums!” 

At least he was still faster than _those_ two.

 

\---

 

Greentail money bought Reader a comfortable room at an inn that came with all the territory of a solid place to sleep, including a bath. He had even called a medic, which was not a luxury she had been able to afford for some time for the sake of secrecy, and one she did not even need after meeting Bertrude. The sap that attended to her tsked at the condition of her head, and her arm, and _especially_ her leg, which was _chafed to shit_ to put it kindly; now mostly bloodied and scabbed over skin. The crow’s leg had nearly stuck to her flesh, and had she been any less exhausted, Reader would have probably screamed during its removal.

She was supposed to be resting, but how could she? She wasn’t _dead_ , she was actually, really, _somehow_ back topside, though no longer in the Commonwealth that would expel or kill her (or worse, make her Archjustice). As soon as she heard the medic move down the stairs, she hobbled to the window on one leg, a cane, and willpower, and leaned as far out as she felt safe to. It still looked like the Commonwealth she remembered, but it _felt_ different. She didn’t know if she’d ever fully absorb how quickly it had changed.

The sight of a little girl below openly carrying a book and mouthing out sounds caught her entirely off-guard. She trailed the child with a slack-jawed expression, trapped so deep between fondness and disbelief that she did not even see the man that barreled around the corner until he just barely missed her.

“Wait for me, chum!” Rukey panted, finally joining the man in front of the inn. He was about to point him in the proper direction when he looked up and caught sight of Reader’s dumbfounded expression. Hedwyn looked up, too. There was a moment of complete stillness, broken by Reader’s meek wave, and then the two below nearly fell over each other on their way inside. 

Reader got halfway across the room to open the door, but Hedwyn beat her to it. The door handle slammed against the wall behind it in the same moment that he threw his arms around his friend and very nearly knocked her off-balance, already crying over the top of her head. She’d hassle him for the dramatic entrance if she wasn’t suddenly leaking tears too, clinging to the boy with one good arm like a promise pieced back together from stardust. She finally got the sense about her to let him go and give him a solid, loving whap across the arm.

“You promised, didn’t you?” she said, as if it was his hope alone that brought her in an impossible arc back up the river.  
“How?” he asked, holding the spot she hit him as if she did any damage.  
“Bertrude,” she answered, and it was enough. 

Hedwyn, for once, was at a loss for words, somehow crying and smiling ear-to-ear at the same time. Reader was about to say something else when she heard Rukey egging someone on downstairs, and then the too-familiar sound of heavy footsteps moving up the steps.

Jodariel had to duck a little and maneuver through the door, leaving herself and the Reader physically at odds while Hedwyn looked between them, ever eager for the first one to make a move. It was Reader’s gasp that broke the silence.

“Oh Scribes, Jodi, your _horns_.” There was probably something to be said in response there, for a time when Jodariel wasn’t so visibly overwhelmed.

Reader was aware that she _started_ moving across the room, but much like Hedwyn, Jodi beat her to it in two sweeping steps and pulled her into an embrace that was only _just_ tight enough to make up for space and time and devastating loss. The fracture in her arm burned just below her skin, but she didn’t dare bring it up for fear of being let go and immediately falling through the very earth to end up back in the Downside, shattered at the base of Mount Alodiel.

“We did it,” Jodi whispered, and only then was it clear that she too, was crying. “We found a way.”

Suddenly, what little promise of solid ground that Reader had regained was lost once more, and the two of them sank to their knees. Hedwyn tried to hide his sniffling unsuccessfully, and as soon as Reader pried herself just far enough away to get a good look at him, she grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him down, too. Even Rukey, who had been doing his best to stay away from the display and retain something of his pride by the door, soon nudged his way into the huddle on the ground.

The Nightwings, reunited. All true to the end.


End file.
